Runner
by Applecake
Summary: Everything was perfect until SHE came along. Nice seating position, brilliant life, nobody stealing his lunch. But then SHE arrived in the picture, and all hell broke loose. [PurinxTaruto] [AU] [Warning: A very sarcastic Taruto. Not your average PxT fic]
1. Introduction

Runner

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew**

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**Introduction **

**Taruto's P.O.V **

The good thing about sitting in the back row of the room is that you get to be away from the teacher. Most of the time, you can basically slip pass her, unobserved. Sometimes, she doesn't even notice you're there. Unless, of course you decide to make a good influential fuss of telling her you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of a lesson--BADLY. You know, "It's an emergency, I NEED to go," that sort of thing.

Then, she'd notice you. I highly guarantee it. And then she'd drill her eyes at you for the entire period.

Which is pretty peculiar if you ask me.

I mean, she won't notice if you make a big deal out of something else.

For instance, if somebody happened to holler: "Teacher, I'm running a fever, I'm gong to die," or, "Mr. or Ms. something, I just got punched in the stomach for no particular reason," you can forget about medical care. She'll swat you away like a fly and ship you back to negotiating with your class-work without blinking once.

How weird is that?

Regardless, the "I really gotta go" thing is significantly fashionable these days. Teachers always seem to concentrate more on bathroom issues.

I've always wondered about that.

Now I'm sharing this special knowledge with you.

Pretty neat, huh?

As I said, parking in the back of the room is cool. I've been "backish" for years now and I find it quite hilarious.

Trust me, you're hearing from an expert here. It's like you're practically invisible.

Nobody bothers you; nobody forces you out of your absentmindedness.

And principally, nobody calls on you to step up to the deadly blackboard of doom where you have to solve some labyrinthine math problem your mind can't possibly comprehend even if you study for seven weeks, eight days, two minutes, and thirty-nine point six seconds straight with healthy food, water, and phone calls from your many buddies who also need help.

It's perfect--an absolute paradisiacal place.

However, word from the wise: That may only suit _some_ people. If you're the type who can't sit still and you're dying to grab everyone's stares, you've got the wrong advice.

Haha.

No, I am NOT joking. You want attention, dive for the nearest chair in the FIRST row before someone else who also shares the same intention does.

Unfortunately for those who seek comments on what it's like to sit in the front, I am totally out of your territory.

Haha. (Again, I no kid)

Well, anyways, we've discussed plenty on seating positions.

My name is Taruto Tamura. It's nice to meet you—err---whoever you are. I am fifthteen years old in my second year of high school. I inform you, I am painfully sarcastic. At least, that's the trait I always get from other people's perspectives.

My height, I'm not certain and my weight is below one hundred pounds. I have light brown hair and amber colored eyes. That's all you need to know. You're not a stalker so you can't possibly have any uses for further identifiable information. That is, assuming you're **not** a stalker. Otherwise, I'll warn you that I am exceptionally good at sensing presences; furthermore, I pack a mean kick.

Just to offer you a clear heads up, this story _will_ be centered on me. Not because I'm some conceited spoiled brat (because I am SO broke) but because this is a _life story_ I'm telling to blow off steam.

It is free to fall on the ears of those who care but if you plan to strut up to me and laugh in my face, you are SO yesterday.

You may find it boring, electrifying, spectacular, depressing, etc . . .

I'm writing a fairly compelling introduction, don't you agree? Don't worry; this random stuff will all make sense.

Nevertheless . . .

In spite of everything, I will not take responsibility if your brain somehow gets messed up because of my rather weird details.

Details include one about some crazy blond who came crashing inside the guy's bathroom one day. (Did you faint? 'Cause if you did, this tale is certainly not recommended for you. I repeat, if you are the type of person who might have a medical condition from lack of "normalness", escape to another story immediately.)

I'll shut up now. You've suffered long enough, those who are immersed.

Are we not compromising?

Good.

I'll see you in the next section.

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**Apple-chan:** HI! I'm trying out a new style of writing. I'm not certain yet whether to leave it in Taruto's perspective or have it in the third person. Most people like reading in the third person though. ()()'' 

_Tamura_ is a random last name I thought up for Taruto. You are free to replace it with a last name you desire. (Yay)

Continuation of this fic rests on my motivation and courage until then. I always shrink from lack of courage. (y' . 'y)


	2. Another Day

Runner

**Chapter One (-)(-)(-) ****Another Day **

I always get tired looking at lockers.

No, really.

Lockers are very intimidating. It just varies on the way you look at it.

I for one hold a grudge against lockers—at least the **_school_** lockers.

First off, a large number of them are trashed. Older kids, for some bizarre reason, adore kicking and banging lockers. I never figured out why, and I don't intend to waste _one _hour of my life trying to. Most of the time, I would catch some twelfth grader whamming at a certain row of lockers with all his might, ignoring the fact that they didn't belong to him. Smashing, killing, eyes completely immobilized on the thin pieces of metal--hence, the busted lockers.

Second, they don't offer you the privacy you deserve.

Sure, you have lock combination protection, but notice the BACK of the lock. Also recall the fact that your security device was distributed by the school. If I'm not crazy, (presumably not) there is a hole there; a perfect fit for a particular key. So merging one piece of information with another, one can easily predict if the head of the school (that would be the principal) should decide to search through each locker in the building, you can bet he has the authority to take out the extra special one-of-a-kind key out of his trusty drawer and use it to unbolt all the locks in the school. Sure, this might be due to critical reasons but I'll say now not to rely on your locker too much.

If I were to give a specific class a safety tip associated with lockers, I'll make a preliminary move on warning them to never, EVER stow any personal belongings within their cubbyhole they _know_ they'll surely cry out in despair and (possibly) kill themselves if anyone finds out about them.

Anyways, I never liked lockers and I never will.

Even if you do (that can be the way they look, the way they shine so brightly in the wonderful light) you won't have any _decent_ time alone with yours.

The locker regulations are excruciatingly strict.

Now, I don't know about other kids attending other schools but my locker route really sucks. Mine is located on the third floor while most of my classes are held on the second floor. And that's not the point. It is also INSIDE a teacher's homeroom.

Plus frankly, our principal doesn't allow kids to leave their coats lying around so you MUST put them in a locker before first period begins.

When I heard this, I thought it was fine. I was cool with it. I bet anyone would be as well unless they were inhumanly fussy.

But then, the next portion of the policy shot through my eardrums.

Afterward, my belief changed tremendously. Each student was only allowed five minutes to communicate with their locker! Come on! Five minutes is nothing when you have thirty other kids who are also hurrying to grab their stuff. In addition, the classroom is abysmally small. Therefore, most likely, your only option would be to wait 'til for the other students are finished . . . or at least until the crowd dies down.

Only that would be a predicament wouldn't it, when you barely have five minutes.

All these years of school, I agonize over getting late every dull day of my life because apparently, due to my dumb luck, I naturally get paired up with a dilapidated, indecent, crushed, difficult-to-access locker!

Thus, while approaching my locker right now in the afternoon during lunchtime to gather some books for my next classes, I had to fight the urge to sternly punish my terrible, ugly locker by rewarding it with a lethal punch aimed straight at its heart.

All the other lockers were in fairly good shape excluding mine.

This situation had been pretty hard to accept as my locker was located three fourths to the end. There wasn't anything special about its position. I can see why if it happened to be situated at the end, the beginning, or exactly in the center. However, it was just—there . . . an inconspicuous position.

My guess would be the kid who formerly used it possessed a demoniac temper.

I entered the classroom, glancing around.

It was entirely empty. The owner had obviously gone out to fetch something or left to purchase a meal.

Meaning: she'll return shortly.

Dropping jadedly down to my knees, I worked halfheartedly to undo my lock. Having successfully unfastened the lock, I effortlessly placed the handbooks I didn't need inside and bought out the ones I did need.

Normally I'd ignore storing my things, as it consumed time and made my schedule rather risky. Yet today was different. My backpack had been utterly swallowing my back.

I finished my procedure and fastened the lock back hanging from its hinge.

The teacher hadn't returned yet. I wisely chose this time to make my getaway.

Nah, I wasn't neglecting the rules, I merely felt uncomfortable associating with adults.

I swung my backpack over my shoulders.

I then decided to go for a brief restroom break. Honestly, I didn't need to use it for its universal purpose. I merely liked spending the majority of my lunch time in the men's room.

It's fairly well constructed with washbasins, five stalls; each accompanied by sturdy doors, and other facilities. Moreover, the awesome thing is that it's _unpolluted_. It amazed me that boys can be so orderly when handling restrooms.

From what I've heard, the girl's rooms are pure nightmares.

Where is the sanity in that?

For one, I generally assumed girls had much neater habits by my judgments of them at school. They're the neat freaks and we males are the messy freaks.

Huh.

Guess looks _can_ be deceiving.

Don't get me wrong. The men's chamber is actually a passably good place to loiter. I sign in there occasionally when it's unoccupied and wash my hands at the sink. Again, it's not like I _need_ to wash my hands. I just enjoy feeling the movement of the water racing through my fingers. It places me at ease and calms me down from stress.

This normally would be a weird method to pacify one's self. Nonetheless, this is what I propose and I am proud of it.

I ambled down the hallways, heading to the stairs.

The men's area lies on the second floor.

When I arrived, several of the other tenth graders from my class were already there.

I could easily tell they weren't there to actually use the restroom for what it stood for. Rather—they were there to gossip.

"The projects Mr. Hoshino had been handing us lately are just unbearable!" I heard one kid complained as I proceeded to damp my hands at the sink.

"I know, right! He's so mean! I'm sick and tired of obeying him!"

"You know what happened to _our_ group? He took off five points from our assignment just because we overlooked the date! It was an accident!"

"Right, Toya, So what are you going to do? Murder him?"

"Haha, very funny."

I held back a chuckle as they each took turns whining about their problems.

It amused me.

Kids these days are growing up, yet they're still constantly acting like babies.

I confess, I don't like Mr. Hoshino very much either. But I am still able to manage acing all his somber demands.

I allowed myself to drift into daydream mode whilst watching the mirror as the clear liquid maneuvered down my hands. The running water felt soothing--comforting.

I began traveling further down musing lane.

_Down . . . _

_Down . . . _

_Down . . . _

Unfortunately, my journey broke apart when my ears picked up a big bang at the bathroom door, like someone just threw a punch on it in an attempt to calm themselves down from whatever fury they were going through. The surprising sound echoed like a thunderous wave slashing at a window; greedily tearing the glass apart. It appeared someone had just opened the door and slammed it against the wall.

One of the boys took one glance (if stimulus serves me, his name is Toya) and screamed. I would have done the same thing (in my mind of course; I wouldn't be caught dead shrieking like a girl) except I was too busy observing the criminal who had the nerve to just barge in a place that was off-limits! (At least for that person)

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_**Thanks To**:_ **Xx-Hazelnut-xX, Musa Rox, Mew-Sahara, tears of emerald, SweetAsHoney, MewMew Cherry, AnimeMew, Tomoyo Kinomoto, Mew Frost, loonysango, Rae-Anime-Neko (Now known as Drifting One), DarkNightDream.**

Thank-you commenters, for your opinions in terms of perspective! I think I'll go with Tart's POV to see how it goes. I am entirely grateful to **all of you** as it encouraged me to write. Every single one of you was so kind to take some time to send me some comments. **Thank-you so much!**

I apologize for the late update. I had problems associating with the computer due to my life's struggles (like school). ＾＾Now I have to check in on my mailbox which is _full _of Fanfiction E-mail alerts (not to mention catching up on some stories) so I'll see you all later. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I also hope I didn't lose any readers. TT ()();;


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